Civilization (I'll Stay Right Here)
By Kachimoochi
Chapter XVII
A Thousand Pardons
General Zaroff had finished meticulously polishing his military medals, after his latest hunt. His military and Russian heritage dictated that he perform the ritual whenever blood is spilled upon his uniform, and whenever he dressed for an official feast.
On this occasion it was for both.
Zaroff had returned from a hunt within the vast jungle in which he created his palace around, on his personal planet. He'd spent a total of 35 hours hunting his prey, to which he expressed extreme disappointment at the results of. The prey he'd thought deserving had turned out to be cowardly, and unaware of a survivor's intuition.
He had originally planned to mount his prey's cranium upon his mantle, populated with the melons of other fallen species, but was to peeved to bother. Instead he endeavored to feast upon his slaughtered victim, what remained of course.
His servant android, Ivan, had been dispatched to prepare the feast featuring a dish made of Turian. Though this would have been uncivilized to most of the galaxy at large, perhaps even his Civilized neighbors, Zaroff was a man of his word. Thankfully, the Krogan race had a recorded history of feasting upon fellow intelligent beings, meaning there were recipes for Ivan to draw from, with little difficulty.
Perhaps hypocritically, Zaroff still maintained his attitude of memorial honor, feasting upon his victim's flesh as a final sigh of respect, no matter how undeserving. He would be more discriminatory next time, he thought himself a fool for assuming a mercenary would have any sense of honor, he must have been truly desperate.
Zaroff looked at himself in the mirror of his wardrobe, fastening buckles, pleating his sleeves, and straightening his medals, such was the Eastern European Royal ritual for an official feast, Zaroff was nothing if not a quibbler for tradition. He exited his master bedroom of his mansion, and trailed himself down a grand spiral staircase, looking to his left to observe his mantle.
The mantel was upon an even grander fireplace, comparable to the inside of a volcano in its warmth, it blazed controllable within an invisible energy shield, serving only as ambience. Above the inferno was a wall, populated with no less than 100 plaques, and upon them no less than 100 heads of various prey.
The heads of Asari, Human, Turian, Krogan, Drell, Rachni, Thresher tooth, and et cetera were plastered above gold on each piece. Their heads taxidermied to preserve their color and composition, no different than many cultures did anyways. Nearly every square inch of the gargantuan wall was covered in wooden shields, with the gold plates and heads within; all save for a single lonesome plate, without a head or gold.
This shield would remain empty, for some time longer now.
7 Hours Before
A Turian, wet from dew, moss, and mud ran, skipped, and sprinted in an aimless direction through a deep and dense forest. This was his apparent routine for the last 34 hours, after taking a 24 hour head start from his Human captor. The time he'd been allowed to scope out his surroundings, fashion survival tools and weapons with the ceremonial dagger he was allowed, and setting traps for the predator that stalked him had all but been wasted. Instead he chose to run in the first direction he chose, stopping only to rest and to eat any seemingly eatable flora of fauna.
He was shocked, that his predator had been able to find him within such a miniscule amount of time, only a single hour after his head start had the Turian seen evidence of his stalker. He'd notice a flint of light coming from a glass scope from tall trees or rock formations. He'd heard clanging and whistling from old fashioned Human bullets from Zaroff's old fashioned rifle, sometimes mere centimeters from his chest.
On one occasion, after almost a day of running, the Turian could have sworn he'd heard a being running through the forest, nearly catching up with him from the shadowy depths of the forest behind him. He afterword thought this ridiculous, considering the frailness and age of the Human he'd encountered in the makeshift interrogation/tea room. But considering the planet he was on was one he didn't recognize, and hadn't encountered any being in days was siphoning his mental faculties, he was panicking more that he'd ever done is his commissioned battles.
34 hours had passed, the Turian was tired, so tired. He ran until his swift aerodynamic body could no longer be carried by his angular, muscular legs. He collapsed upon a rock, facing away from the direction which he was certain he was being followed. He took this moment to look upon his body, to find all of it covered in mud, parasites, and bleeding scratches from prickly branches and plants. His armored plating had done little to sustain such injuries from Mother Nature, it was almost as if mother nature was conspiring with Zaroff against him.
He looked upon himself and cried, it was a common misconception that Turians were incapable of any emotion, especially sorrow, but one only had to look at this Turian who faced death and destiny in its harsh eyes, and given up hope.
Miles away, two Human males, one in a red and white military uniform with a white pith helmet, and the other a giant muscular mass, wearing only a stripped tank top and camouflaged trousers.
The larger and younger of the two lay prone beside his master, holding pair of binoculars to his eyes, intently staring at the prey, who was experiencing a mental breakdown. His elderly master was equally prone beside him, and in his possession was a massive rifle, whose size and girth were legendary to all hunters. It was an elephant gun, once a specialized rifle which required at least 3 men to operate, Zaroff had Soham modify it into a lethal and stylish killing machine.
The two just watched the crying creature, pounding the ground and groveling to the Spirits, or some other unseen force for mercy. Ivan began to smirk, though as he viewed his master's glare, he returned to his neutral expression.
"Is this it! Ivan, you told me this was the fiercest fighter in the entire company?" Zaroff exclaimed angrily, still keeping the Turian in his crosshairs.
"Apologies мастер, his credentials are second to none, and his battle list in extensive and varied, even in survival situations. I haven't the slightest clue as to why he is such easy prey" Ivan apologized to his master.
"Ach! Perhaps I should enlist Soham to modify your artificial intelligence as he did this fine rifle, he couldn't do much worse"
"A thousand pardons мастер, I shant let it happen again" Ivan continued to beg, still in his heavy, neutral Russian accent.
Zaroff's brow relaxed slightly, as he peered deeply into the scope of the elephant gun, looking into the eyes of his prey as best he could. The frantic flailing of the Turian's head and arms would easily have disrupted the focus and concentration of even the most masterful of hunters around.
"I grow tired of this, let it be done already!" Zaroff exclaimed
With that final line, he squeezed the trigger of the rifle, igniting an artificial musket shot comprised of compressed lazer energy, and firing the baseball sized shot into the skull of his prey.
The shot penetrated the nasal cavity of the Turian as its metallic form, becoming lodged in his avian skull, before giving way to its internal energy. Within microseconds afterword the shot formed into its energy form, exploding the prey's skull across the rock he'd taken cover against.
Zaroff had chosen the precise millisecond to fire the gun, which bypassed miles of branches, plants, trunks, until it inserted itself forcefully in the head of the still frantic and spastic victim, quite literally a one-in-a-million shot.
Zaroff stood up on the rock formation he'd been crouched upon to view his handiwork, placing the 4 foot long, 8 inch wide rifle in the holster upon Ivan's back. He walked away after a second of viewing in a huff, not even giving the prey his customary prayer, as he did with all of his hunting prizes.
"мастер! You shot him in his head, it remains no longer. Would you like me to fashion a prize out of another part of him?" Ivan inquired to his departing master.
"Such was the purpose of my placement, Ivan. Cook the Turian into a meal, he's not worth the spot on my mantle, I've never been more bored in my 87 year alive!" Zaroff bellowed, using a controller to summon a transport for the both of them.
Present Time
Zaroff entered the grand banquet hall, which was empty save for the hunter himself. The room was adorned with portraits of Russian royalty, to which to a miniscule extent, Zaroff considered himself loyal to. Two long tables populated the room, set with a white table cloth, with 20 plates, napkins, and sets of silverware set up for guests, real of otherwise.
He took his place on the table which stood before the two guest tables, it was smaller, with two equal tables beside his, but was raised at least two feet above the others. Zaroff sat himself in the gilded silk chair, and readied his napkin in his lap, and waiting patiently for his android servant to present himself with his meal.
Before long Ivan presented himself in the hall, pushing a trey with a single dish upon it, covered with a silver serving cover. Ivan approached his master slowly, as was custom, and before long met his master at the elongated platform.
He began by pouring the tea for his master, perfectly adding 4 sugar cubes and 3 seconds of cream, just as Zaroff preferred it. He then placed the tray in front of Zaroff, and removed it without ceremony, knowing his master wouldn't appreciate the act under the circumstances. Zaroff held a slight scowl, not truly disappointed in his trusty Ivan, but rather the disappointment with being eluded yet again with a proper hunt.
He imagined that there was none like him in the galaxy who held the same moral and beliefs as he did. Most in the universe now killed for money, pride, status, business, or other worthless concepts. To Zaroff, he killed only under the fairest of circumstances, if he could muster it, he would defeat all of his prey in hand to hand combat, but not many were open to the idea any longer.
In his childhood in Russia, he was instructed to hunt by his father, as he was by his. Zaroff's father made certain to emphasize the importance of honor and fairness in the hunt.
"There is no honor in killing lesser beings, much as there is no honor in stomping upon an ant hill" His father said.
"But father, are not their lives less valuable than ours? We are the most educated in all the land, we even share royal blood. Is it not our right to do as we please?" The teenage Zaroff asked.
"Hush boy! None must know of our connection, you never know who is listening, you forget, we are the hunted in this land now. You will understand someday my son, for now you are the ant under the boot of the men in power, under the force. I prey someday that you will take your place as the ruler of a land, as our ancestors did before the red traitors, only then will you learn the futility of honorless murder" The father spoke ominously, caressing the shoulder of his son.
Zaroff broke out of his flashback with the scent of his dinner wafting through the air. What sat before him was a rendition of Beef Wellington, with Turian substituting as the beef. He assumed that Ivan would simply copy a recipe from an ancient Krogan field manual, and was surprised by his android's creativity.
"Might I say Ivan, you've simply outdone yourself"
"It is an honor to serve you мастер, only the best is worth of the Blood of the Tsar"
"It is only you that could turn a disappointment into a pleasure, many thanks to you my artificial companion" Zaroff stated, as he began to slice into the flesh of his prey.
Not a second before the slice reached Zaroff's mouth, a siren sound appeared on Ivan's Pip-Boy, signifying that there was an intruder upon Hunting Lodge.
"Whose there? Who could have found us?" Zaroff demanded.
"Sensors indicate…Anaximander, and the Prince of Persia, I don't recall you inviting them мастер" Ivan elaborated.
"Neither do I"